The Coming Of Supermanta!
by Dannell Lites
Summary: An Amalgamated tale of Supermanta: a blending of DC's Superman and Marvel's Namor, the Submariner!


The Coming of...Supermanta!  
By Dannell Lites  
  
SPIFFY DISCLAIMER THINGIE!  
  
Ah'm not sure exactly who the character belongs to, save that he isn't   
mine:):) He was conceived by the staff of Wizard Magazine in July 1997   
for an article entitled "Amalgamania: The Top Ten Amalgams 'Wizard'   
Wants To See!" He caught moi's eye immediately, and Ah kept this story   
possibility in the back of moi's mind ever since! Hope ya'll like him,   
too:):)  
  
This is a fanfic for entertainment purposes only! No copyright   
infringement is intended for DC Comics, Marvel Comics, OR Wizard   
Magazine, so don't sue moi:):)  
  
Rated PG-13 for a bit of violence and bad temper on Supermanta's part   
and maybe a naughty word or two in Japanese:):) Hee!  
  
For those of ya'll who would like to see what Supermanta looks like,   
click on this Link:   
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Shuttle/4853/supermanta.jpg  
  
It should be obvious, but Supermanta is an amalgam of DC's Superman and   
Marvel's Namor, the Submariner! Special thanks to the Wizard staff who   
conceived him, and to Rachel Erhlich for tinkering with the outstanding   
illo of Supermanta! Thanks, Rachel, Sugah:):) Again, many thanks to Steve Zink for a superb beta!  
  
And now, on with the story!  
  
Part 1  
  
Captain Hiro Fugimoto made a wry, disgusted face and breathed out   
heavily through his nose in irritation. "Not you *too*, Kenjiro-Sama!"   
he exclaimed in a barking voice, perhaps a bit harsher than he'd   
intended at first. First Mate Kenjiro Yamahara was a fine sailor and   
a worthy son of Nippon. No need to be so thoughtless, Fugimoto   
chastised himself.   
  
Kenjiro assumed an attitude of proper respect for his Captain, and   
bowed quickly; perhaps a bit lower than was absolutely necessary under   
the circumstances, Hiro decided, embarrassed.  
  
"With respect, Captain-San," Kenjiro pointed out in an apologetic voice,   
"I only remind the honorable Captain of the nervous state of the crew.   
Three whaling vessels have disappeared in this area within the last   
month. They say a demon haunts these frigid waters. A most powerful   
water spirit."  
  
With an effort, the Captain forced himself to smile. "Nonsense,   
Kenjiro!" he chuckled heartily. "Superstitious claptrap! Surely you   
do not believe it any more than I!"  
  
Kenjiro looked away, unwilling to face his Captain just then. He   
studied his feet, clad snugly in weather proof boots. "Hiro, my old   
friend," he addressed the other man, "I do not know what to believe.   
We were sent to investigate this 'demon', were we not? The last   
transmission from the Hokkaido-Maru speaks of a "a great wind' and a   
'terrible force rising from the depths of the sea'...and all the   
witnesses agree. Whatever this thing is, demon, man, or...something   
else...it is mighty, possessing abilities far beyond those of mortal   
men. Beyond even the power of we poor mortals to describe."   
Reflexively, as if to protect himself from a sudden bitter cold   
invading the warmth of the bridge he stood upon, he pulled the hood of   
his heated all weather parka closer about his flushed face.  
  
"That's why I'm here," declared Dr. Reicho Namasara, late of the Osaka   
Institute for Advanced Oceanographic Studies. "To see this thing for   
myself, and perhaps help you deal with it. Did you know that your men   
have given this 'demon' a name? They've begun to call it 'Supermanta'."   
The diminutive scientist smiled, bowing in greeting to his two hosts.  
  
Captain Fugimoto sniffed hot derision. "Your pardon, learned sir, but   
I have been sailing these waters for more than twenty-five years! I   
have no need of a nursemaid!"  
  
The scientist understood the sailor's ire, but still could not help   
being put off by his verbal jab. "Truly, Fugimoto-San," he returned   
dryly, "you are lucky the Son of Heaven did not call upon Sunfire and   
the Big Hero Six to assist you! Or perhaps the Imperial Bodyguard,   
Rising Sun, himself. Nippon is surprisingly dependent upon the bounty   
of the sea for her continued survival. Anything that adversely affects   
the Japanese fishing or whaling fleet is a serious matter." Fugimoto's   
sharp gesture of dismissal was almost rude in its abruptness.  
  
Sighing, Dr. Namasara shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak,   
but he was interrupted by the harsh cry of the lookout on deck.   
  
"Whale!" the call went up. "Whale off the port bow!"  
  
Abandoning Doctor Namasara, the two sailors clambered out onto the deck.   
The biting subzero Antarctic winds of the Weddell Sea lashed them   
unmercifully as they both raised powerful binoculars to their eyes,   
aimed off the port bow.  
  
"A humpback!" the Captain rejoiced at the sight that filled his eyes.   
"Scarce these days! And a *big* one, at that. Seventy tons at least!"   
  
The first mate nodded happily. Turning, Kenjiro barked orders at the   
scurrying crew. "Hard a port!" he shouted over the howling wind. "Man   
the harpoon guns!"  
  
Like the well-oiled cogs of a smoothly operating machine, the crew of   
the Shinobi-Maru leapt into action, lulled by the succor of long   
practice. The Captain watched with considerable pride as his gunners   
tracked the huge, fleeing marine mammal sliding swiftly through the   
ocean's dark waters. A great spray arose in the creature's wake, water   
forced from the whale's body out through the anterior blowhole.   
  
"Thar she blows!" cried a mirthful Kenjiro, in a terrible impression of   
a New England American accent he'd picked up during his student days at   
the University of Massachusetts. Beneath his breath, the Captain   
gnashed his teeth, cursing in foul Japanese.  
  
"Watch out!" he warned. "She's going to sound! Quick! Before she   
dives! Fire! Fire!"  
  
Obediently, his gunners took careful aim, then released the   
pneumatically powered tungsten steel harpoons at their fleeing target.   
The Captain gripped his binoculars tightly enough that his knuckles   
turned white with the effort. Yes! Already he could tell that the   
deadly projectiles were right on target. A solid hit, it would be,   
lodging deep within the whale's blubber-coated body. He waved at the   
forward harpooner in triumph.  
  
"Captain, look!" Kenjiro cried suddenly, the fear in his voice rising,   
pointing out to sea with a trembling finger.  
  
The surface of the sea boiled like a heated cauldron, roiling and   
frothing in great agitation like cooking soup stirred by a giant invisible hand.   
With a mighty rush of sound, a huge waterspout blasted high into the   
air, sucked into this alien element by the sheer force and speed of the   
being at its apex. All eyes turned to the skies, just in time to see   
the harpoons shatter themselves into small pieces against...something...  
then fall harmlessly into the sea, broken and useless.  
  
"Look! Up in the sky!" shouted one crewman, pointing at a hovering   
figure.  
  
"It's a *bird*!" scoffed another, shading his eyes against the sun's   
refection off the silvery waters.  
  
"It's a plane!" corrected yet another nearby crewman, who could see   
clearly that the figure was larger than a bird.  
  
"It's...Supermanta!" howled a fourth, in great fear. "Aieeee!   
Amaterasu, save us!"  
  
With a merry salute of her flukes in thanks and gratitude, the great   
cetacean, one of the last humpback whales in these waters, swam   
serenely away, unmolested, both she and her unborn calf safe.  
  
For the moment.  
  
  
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS  
  
  
  
Krypton was doomed.  
  
For months now, Jor-El had known it. All his investigations lead to   
the same conclusion. There was fiery death building in the heart of   
Krypton and her Great Mother Ocean. But the dotting old men of the   
Science Council had forbidden him to act publicly. An alarmist, they   
called him. Fools! May Rao curse the waters in which they swam. Their   
foolish intransigence had doomed all of Krypton and her people.  
  
He smiled.  
  
Well, perhaps not *all* of them...  
  
Not if Jor-El had his way.  
  
And he intended to.  
  
There was still yet hope for the child. But time was rapidly running   
out. As he'd worked frantically on the small model rocketship in these   
last few hours, he found himself interrupted several times by sea   
tremors that shook the spires of Kryptonopolis like a hapless toy in   
the hands of an irate child. His gills straining hard to keep up with   
his exertions, the scientist recalibrated the tiny ship's warp drive   
vectors one last time, shaking his head. Not perfect, but it would   
have to do. There was simply no more time. The floor of his private   
laboratory began to shake, almost gently at first, then with increasing   
severity. Tumbling through the water, Jor-El caught himself by   
reaching out and grasping at a passing sonic generator with one webbed   
hand. Clinging to the heavy piece of lab equipment, he found himself   
staring through the sweeping plas-steel window of his lab out into the   
vista of his doomed city.   
  
His doomed world.  
  
Buildings rumbled and shook, falling to the ocean floor; the shock   
waves of the great quake rippled through the waters of Kryptonopolis   
like a swelling tide. Crying in terror and distress, aquatic   
Kryptonians fled the destruction like glittering, startled flamefish   
who saw their deaths reflected in the crystalline forehead of a hungry   
thought-ichthyus. As if this were the wilds of the Scarlet Sea, and   
not the cradle of Kryptonian civilization itself.  
  
It was all futile, Jor-El knew.  
  
Lara! Quickly! Bring the child! he ordered his wife, and swam to   
meet her as she entered his domain, his lab. He had never forbidden   
her presence there, but, prudently, she rarely invaded this sheltered   
part of his life. His research was vital to him, she realized. And   
she had no wish to intrude.  
  
Jor?  
  
With a frown, Jor-El looked up from strapping his infant son into the   
vehicle's tiny, cramped interior, being careful not wake the sleeping   
child. Briefly, his wife leaned down and kissed the drowsy child's   
forehead. The baby cooed and gurgled in his slumber, and Jor-El's   
heart fell as he watched Lara carefully arrange the dark blankets   
around the baby's chin. Jor-El took his wife's hand in his, and held   
it tightly as he sealed the ship's environmental systems and began the   
power up preparatory to launch.  
  
This world we're sending him to, this Earth... Lara whispered.   
Understanding her desire, Jor-El activated a hologram of Earth to allow   
her to see their son's future home. Like a great lovely blue and green   
marble, it hung in the waters of the lab, peeking out from beneath its   
fleecy cloud cover like a shy young girl with her first lover. Lara   
gasped at the beauty before her.  
  
Sea's cover seven-tenths of the planetary surface, my wife. So our   
little 'Star-Child' will have plenty of room to swim where he chooses,   
never fear. Earth is a gentle, hospitable world.  
  
Oh, Jor! He-he'll be...different from them...strange...alien...  
  
He'll be *alive*, Lara. And he'll be stronger than the natives.   
Stronger, faster, virtually invulnerable, thanks to Earth's much lesser   
gravity and his Kryptonian physiology. He'll be safe there, you must   
trust me on that.  
  
With a devastating smile that tore a the strings of her husband's pounding   
heart, Lara nodded, squeezing his hand gently in reassurance.  
  
I do, Jor, I *do* ... she said simply.  
  
And then there was no time left at all. The lab shook itself like a   
drenched animal throwing water from off its coat, and Jor-El keyed the   
launch sequence with a frantic hand. The roar of rocket engines filled   
the water, louder even than the sounds of destruction all around them.   
Jor-El shielded his wife from the treacherous falling glass as the   
small rocket tore through the ceiling of their crumbling home, out   
into the atmosphere of their dying world. Great fissures ripped open   
the ground beneath their dwelling as, together, hand in hand, they   
watched the rocket, bearing its small, precious cargo, claw its way   
through the atmosphere to the safety of space. For the final time,   
Jor-El embraced his wife, clinging to her tightly, secure in the   
knowledge that all was not lost.  
  
Rao guide you to safe waters, my son, he whispered.  
  
  
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS  
  
  
Doctor Namasara spilled out onto the wet, slippery deck like a ripe   
seed. Windmilling his arms frantically, the slight scientist fought   
for balance against the heaving ship, falling hard to the deck with an   
audible "whoosh" of escaping air from his comically open mouth. The   
Captain might have smiled if he hadn't been so busy.  
  
And afraid.  
  
"Hard astern!" he shrieked, once more striving to make himself heard   
over the howling wind.  
  
"Remember the 'great wind'!" cried Doctor Narasama, climbing to his   
feet again, only to fall once more as the ship lurched away from   
beneath his scrambling feet. "Quickly! Grab hold of something!"   
Almost against his will, the Captain obeyed, grabbing for purchase at a   
convenient rail, lest he be swept overboard by the strengthening wind   
that blew hard in his face. Kenjiro-Sama was no fool. He did the same.   
For several unfortunate crewmen, the warning came too late, however.   
With despair, Hiro Fugimoto watched as two of his crew were swept from   
the heaving deck like dust before a housekeeper's busy broom.  
  
"Men overboard!" the cry went up. "Men overboard!"  
  
Brave Kenjiro released his hold on safety, and joined his Captain as   
the older man threw life preservers over the side of the vessel in the   
faint hope that the two lost men might be able to make their way to   
them. In these seas, their chances were not good. In the bitter cold   
of the Antarctic waters of the Weddell Sea, his two crewmen would not   
last long before hypothermia claimed them.  
  
The wind abated for a moment, and Hiro breathed a sigh of relief.   
"Wha - ?"  
  
And then, as if by magic, his two crewmen fell from the sky onto the   
pitching deck of the Shinobi-Maru, coughing up sea water, drenched and   
shivering. Ancestor's be praised! In all his twenty-five years as a   
sailor, the last ten of them as Captain of his own vessel, Fugimoto had   
never lost a single crewman. He was loath to start such a detestable   
practice now. On a research mission of all things.  
  
"Get those men below and into some dry clothes before they freeze!" he   
instructed, and several of their crewmates fell to, assisting the   
beleaguered pair below decks.  
  
And then the wind picked up again.  
  
With a vengeance.  
  
"Kamikaze!" whispered Kenjiro at Fugimoto's side. "'The Divine Wind'!   
We are undone, Hiro-Sama, my friend!"  
  
With an effort, Fugimoto restrained himself from striking his friend   
and subordinate. "Nonsense!" he cursed. "This is *not* 1281, Kenjiro!   
And that is *surely* not Khublai-Khan's invading fleet! Besides," the   
Captain tried to be reasonable even under these most *un*reasonable of   
circumstances, "the Kamikaze -- the 'Divine Wind' -- that forced the   
Great Khan to abandon his plans for the invasion and subjugation of   
Nippon was a sign of Nippon's favor from the gods. Whatever this is, I   
would hardly call it *that*!"  
  
Much chastened, Kenjiro dipped his head in a smart bow of respect for   
the Captain's greater knowledge. "Hai!" he agreed.  
  
Suddenly, with a great lurch that sent the crew tumbling from their   
feet yet again, and filled the air with the ear piercing screech of   
rending metal, the Shinobi-Maru rose into the air. Covering his ears   
against the cacophony of noise that assaulted him, Captain Hiro   
Fugimoto could only offer up his most humblest prayers for mercy from   
their unseen foe, even as he buried his face in the welcome warmth of   
his parka against the cutting wind. Clinging tightly to the deck, the   
Captain tried to ignore the sensation of great speed that engulfed his   
ship and crew. His queasy stomach rolled and pitched with the flight   
of the vessel through the air. Impossible! For a moment, he feared he   
might disgrace himself by being sick. Not since he was a boy, a gopher   
aboard his first vessel at the age of fifteen, had he been seasick. He   
felt somewhat better when he noticed Kenjiro-Sama and realized that if   
he were to be ill, he would scarcely be alone.  
  
And then, gently as a floating piece of thistledown, the Shinobi-Maru   
splashed back down into her native element, calmly riding the gentle   
swells of a sheltered bay. The breeze that touched his cheek when he brave to   
lift his head and look about in inquiry was almost warm.   
  
"Look!" cried Kenjiro in awe, pointing at a familiar skyline. Even at   
this distance, and in the falling gloom of evening, the neon lights of   
the Ginza burned splendidly garish and bright. The Captain's eyes   
widened in disbelief. No! Impossible! A trip of thousands of miles,   
accomplished in the twinkling of an eye!  
  
"Tokyo," the mariner breathed, sweeping back the hood of his parka to   
better orient himself. "My friends, this is Tokyo Bay! We -- we are   
home!"  
  
  
  
continued in part 2  
  
  
  
The Coming of...Supermanta!  
By Dannell Lites  
  
Part 2  
  
"Princess? Princess Fen?"   
  
The lady Lori called to the despondent figure kneeling by the solitary   
grave. "Please, My Lady," pleaded the chestnut haired merwoman, one of   
several of Fen's Ladies in Waiting, "you must come away from this   
mournful place. Please? Your father, Emperor Tha-Korr, summons you.   
He is most concerned by your protracted grief for this - this   
*surfaceman*. He deems it very unseemly for a Princess of fair   
Atlantis."  
  
The Atlantean Princess' full lips thinned themselves into an angry, thin   
blue line. "Tell the Emperor, my father, that I will mourn the death   
of my *husband* for as long and in whatever way or manner I find most   
appropriate!" Shaking her dark head, Fen gestured dismissal to the   
Lady Lori, and did not even look up to see if she'd been obeyed. She   
lowered her head in the familiar posture of listless sadness that she   
had assumed for so very long now. Ever since her return from the   
surface, in fact. For a moment, Lori had been almost glad to see the   
return of her friend's fighting spirit. But it was gone, now. Vanished ...   
like Leonard McKensie.  
  
So quickly vanished...  
  
Swimming closer, Lori touched Fen lightly on the elbow. "Oh, Fen,   
please," she pleaded. "You mustn't make him any angrier! He's the Emperor!   
I -- I know how you must feel..."   
  
Fen looked up, and not for the first time realized that when one lived   
beneath the sea waves, it was almost impossible to tell if someone were   
crying. But the tears were in Lori's voice if, perhaps, not in her   
eyes. "My-my own husband, my beloved Ronal, has but lately journeyed   
over the Grey Waters," Lori stammered. "Poseidon's Beard...I -- I miss   
him so, Fen!"  
  
The two women embraced, keeping the pain of their mutual loss at bay   
with the presence, the warmth, of their bodies. "Oh, Lori, can you   
ever forgive me?" Fen whispered in a delicately pointed ear, stroking   
Lori's hair. "I've been so caught up in my own sorrow, my own tragedy,   
that I hadn't even considered yours. It must be very difficult for you.   
Yes, I miss Leonard, too. The sight of his smile...the sound of his   
voice...the way his chin jutted just *so* when he was happy..."  
  
Lori rearranged her elaborate, now disheveled, headdress to the proper   
angle once more and nodded. "And your father misses *you*," she said   
softly, trying to smile. "He misses his bold adventurous daughter, his   
brave Fen. He'd never say so, of course, but I can tell. And he feels   
so guilty! He longs to see you smile once more, and to know that you   
forgive him."  
  
Fen shook her head in apparent confusion. "Guilty? I don't -- "  
  
"Of course he feels guilty, Fen! Was it not he that sent you to the   
surface in the first place to find the source of the destruction that   
rained down upon the realm of Atlantis? And it was there on the   
surface, was it not, that you found the icebreaker Oracle, making its   
way through the polar ice with explosive charges? And was that not   
where you met Leonard McKensie, captain of the Oracle?"  
  
"Y-yes..." Unconsciously, Fen toyed with the plain gold band still   
adorning the ring finger of her left hand, absently twisting it about   
her finger in agitation. "And married him, after the customs of his   
people."  
  
Lori nodded. "And when you did not return speedily, it was your father   
who sent a military patrol to fetch you back. He was terrified that   
you might have been captured or killed by the surfacemen. He raged for   
a day and a night until they returned with you safely. He did not know   
that the only thing Leonard McKensie had captured was your heart. Your   
husband's death was an accident, Princess. Young Jerro did not mean to   
kill him. When he found you in McKensie's bed, he thought...he thought   
you'd been violated, and it enraged him. To so despoil a Princess of the   
Blood Royale! And the rash youth mistook your husband's defense of you   
for an attack."  
  
Fen buried her head in her hands at the flood of memories that   
threatened to overwhelm her. Perhaps she meant to speak. Lori was   
never to know. For, if so, the Princesses' words were lost in the   
great roar of sound that sprang up suddenly from above, over their   
heads.   
  
Alarmed, Lori Lemaris' eyes widened at the sight of the hurtling...  
meteor? "Fen, look!" she cried, forgoing formality in this time of   
possible sudden danger. "What is it? Are the surfacemen attacking?   
Is it Attuma? What's hap -- "  
  
Crashing downward through the placid waters at tremendous speed, the   
falling fragment of heaven plowed into the sea bottom with a mighty   
impact that sent the two women stumbling from their feet as the shock   
waves overtook them. Tumbling about willy-nilly, the agile Fen righted   
herself, gasping for breath. With an oath, the Princess swan to the   
aid of her distressed Lady in Waiting and friend. Reaching out, she   
grabbed Lori's passing hand and held on tightly. After a moment, the   
waters quieted themselves, and the two women again regained their   
equilibrium once more after a brief spell of dizziness. Murmuring her   
thanks, Lori shook her head as if to clear it.  
  
"Princess, wha -- " she began.   
  
Fen pointed. "Whatever it was has fallen to ground off to the East...  
near the Cave of Shadows." Fen could see the slight shiver that washed   
over Lori at the mention of the ancient, haunted landmark.  
  
"That accursed place!" Lori cried.  
  
Startled, Lori called after the retreating Atlantean royal, as the other   
woman swam away at great speed. "Princess, wait!" When she was   
ignored, Lori took off in swift pursuit of her mistress, her strong   
arms propelling her through the now calm waters swiftly. It seemed to   
her that Fen slowed her course just a bit in order to allow the slower   
woman to catch up to her. In silence, Lori followed the adventurous   
Fen, not without some small trepidation. But she held her tongue,   
nonetheless. Now did not seem to be the best time to speak up. Lori   
knew her highborn friend to be strong willed and stubborn. Warning her   
against her present course would doubtless only serve to strengthen her   
resolve. With a sigh, the beleaguered handmaiden swam on, following in   
the Princess' frothy wake like a darting remora in the company of a   
great white shark.  
  
Lori's heart beat faster, thudding loudly in her breast. *Something*   
had torn a great, gouging path along the sea floor, like a huge ugly   
scar on the pale flesh of one of the Neriads themselves. For what   
seemed like an interminable distance, the path of the fallen star led   
on. The water began to take on a strange, somewhat unpleasant metallic   
taste in Lori's laboring gills. And hot! The closer they approached,   
the more uncomfortably heated the water grew. Lori was on the verge of   
pleading for a halt to this folly when Fen brought herself up short,   
floating still in the water. Lori's gusting sigh of relief was   
heartfelt, indeed.  
  
Glowing softly red with heat and then blue with the luminescence of   
Cherenkov radiation, the great egg-shaped vessel rested peacefully on   
the ocean floor, now. Lori's eyes widened, and she reached out a   
futile hand to restrain Fen as the gentle whir of servomotors echoed   
through the waters. Not quick enough to stop the determined Princess   
of Atlantis, Lori opened her mouth to call out to the impetuous Fen.   
But the Princess did not hear her as the great egg cracked and the top   
half lifted itself off, revealing the contents within, and a faint high   
pitched wail of distress emerged.  
  
"Lori!" cried Fen, her voice awestruck and filled with wonder. "Come   
quickly! It's -- it's a *baby*!"  
  
  
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS  
  
  
In a flash of red, twin beams of heat sought out the two forward   
harpoon guns, and melted them where they crouched. Scrambling to   
safety, the gunners yelled in fear and abandoned their positions, barely   
avoiding the hissing, sputtering pools of spreading liquid metal where   
only moments before stood the fearsome tools of their bloody trade.   
  
The figure that landed lightly on the poop-deck was tall, tall and   
proudly straight backed, with shortish dark hair that clung wetly to   
his skull. Clad in a skin tight body tunic of deepest blue-black to   
match the hair, he stood very still. Captain Fugimoto could have sworn   
he could hear the steady drip, drip, drip of sea water droplets as they   
cascaded off the muscular body in the yawning, screaming silence. Sea   
green eyes narrowed at the sight of the astonished Captain and his crew.  
  
"Supermanta!" The whisper seemed contagious as it spread from man to   
man like a virus. "Supermanta!"  
  
The man, if such he was, scowled in disdain. "Know, surfacemen, that I   
am Namor-El, Prince of Atlantis!" The deep, resonant voice was oddly   
accented. Those liquid vowels and consonants never sprang from any   
language he knew, the Captain realized. "I am the Avenging Star Child,   
and I come to you with a warning!" To his great humiliation, the   
Captain paled somewhat when "Namor-El" pointed an accusing finger   
directly at him as he spoke.  
  
"No more will you be allowed to recklessly exploit the seas!" he   
declared firmly. "From this day forward, you are forbidden to   
thoughtlessly slaughter her denizens, to carelessly dump your garbage   
and your poisons upon her bosom! The seas are the domain of Atlantis!   
And you will respect that! You may still go your way, traveling from   
place to place in your pitiable vessels. Normal fishing you may   
continue, within reason and within your coastal domains! But   
henceforth, you will consider yourselves *guests* when you journey down   
to the sea in ships! So speaks Namor-El, the Avenging Star Child!   
Imperious Rex!"  
  
The Captain, flabbergasted and frankly at a loss to know what to do,   
stared at the imposing figure of the self proclaimed Atlantean Prince,   
and so, did not see Kenjiro-Sama draw his pistol. He was later to be   
almost grateful for that. At that moment, he could not have said   
whether he would have forbidden what happened next or not. It was   
almost a relief to have the decision taken from out of his hands by his   
own inattention. It wasn't until the sound of gunfire shook his senses,   
the sharp retort of weapon's fire reverberating like thunder in his   
ears, that he cried out in inarticulate dismay.   
  
Others were not so reticent, it seemed.  
  
"Put that away, you fool!" shouted Doctor Namasara, his high, shrill   
voice cracking like a whip. "You'll get us all killed!" Scattered   
about the deck, the mesmerized, astonished crew of the Shinobi-Maru   
gaped in wonder, then gasped in horror to see the bullet strike its   
target, the Atlantean's broad chest. Strike...  
  
...and ricochet harmlessly off the muscled expanse of tanned flesh.  
  
Rage twisted the merman's smooth features, and Fugimoto's heart sank   
like a stone in his chest. What punishment could they expect from a   
being of such immense power? Truly, it was a frightening thought, and   
the Captain paled to imagine Namor-El's revenge. It was his place to   
speak, to explain...he knew that. And yet...he could not. His thick   
tongue clove to the roof his desert dry mouth, the muscles of his   
throat worked, but no sound emerged. And perhaps that was best. It   
would not have served for the crew to hear the undignified, squeaky   
voiced plea that would have been the only sound he was capable of just   
then. Not served at all. It was then that Reicho Narasama proved   
himself to be a much braver man than the Captain had ever given him   
credit for being.  
  
Thrusting himself forward, Doctor Narasama bowed low. "Pluh-please,   
Yuh-Your Highness," he stammered through chattering teeth. "Forgive   
this unworthy old fool, but -- " He got no further.  
  
"You've given me your answer, *surfacemen*!" roared Namor-El, making a   
gesture of dismissal with one hand, sharp and abrupt like an edged   
weapon. "I came to you, a messenger in good faith, and you have   
attacked my Imperial person! You require a lesson in manners! And a   
reminder of the power of Atlantis and the one, true Avenging Star   
Child!"  
  
With a spreading murmur of fear, the crew fell back when the Prince   
reached to the belt of metallic gold spanning his slender waist.   
Captain Fugimoto was eternally grateful that, despite his weak and   
trembling knees, he held his ground and did not further disgrace   
himself. Several loud cries of terror assaulted the Captain's reeling   
senses, along with the sound of running feet, pounding an alarmed   
retreat. Carefully, Fugimoto did not turn to see which of his crew   
had panicked and taken themselves below decks.  
  
It scarcely mattered. From his belt, Namor-El brought forth a long,   
tapering spiral shaped conch shell, and lifted it to his waiting lips,   
his sea green eyes gleaming with angry purpose.  
  
"Let the Horn of Proteus summon forth your punishment!" he declared.  
  
With a great gust of indrawn breath, Namor-El blew upon the 'Horn of   
Proteus'. At first, the sound that blasted forth from the strangely   
shaped, bejeweled shell hardly registered upon human ears. Low and   
throbbing, it seemed to shake the air; a mournful wail from out of the   
depths of time. Fugimoto covered his ears against the agony that   
erupted in his mind at the sound that seemed to reverberate in his   
bones. Still, the sound shook him even through that fleshly barrier.   
Like the call of something ancient and primitive and terrible, it   
echoed in the heart, stealing the breath from the lungs.  
  
And lo! The waters of Tokyo Bay began to seethe and boil, great   
bubbles of air rising to the surface from...something...that lurked   
below. The sea foamed and roiled, as if it were frantically trying to   
escape, flee from a great terror. Fugimoto's eyes grew wide, the size   
of dinner plates, as a great bulk tore itself from off the sea bottom   
of Tokyo Bay and reared its scaly, reptilian head above the waves.  
  
With an answering roar to match the Horn of Proteus, the huge saurian   
creature began striding toward the shore, great waves pushed before it   
like earth before a bulldozer.  
  
"Godzilla!" cried Doctor Narasama in fascinated horror. "He's awakened   
Godzilla! Tokyo is *doomed*!"  
  
  
  
concluded in part 3  
  
  
The Coming of...Supermanta!  
by Dannell Lites  
  
Part 3  
  
"Pink skin! Surface scum!"  
  
"Hold your tongue, Bryrrah!" cried Namor-El, swimming strongly in his   
elder cousin's direction. His face twisted in wrath, the Prince of   
Atlantis regarded his chief rival for the heirship to the throne of   
Kamuu sourly. Hands on his slender hips, he floated, searing Bryrrah   
with his heated gaze. "You will *not* address me again in such a   
manner!"  
  
Lazily, as if the gesture were barely worth the slight effort it cost   
him, the azure skinned Atlantean youth skinned his lips back from his   
teeth in a mocking sneer. "I will address you as I see fit, halfling!"   
the older boy snarled. With the fingers of one cerulean blue hand,   
Bryrrah stroked the thin mustache that lately adorned his otherwise   
clean shaven features. Namor-El snorted. His elder cousin was very   
fond of that mustache, he knew. And of the age and maturity that had   
allowed him to grow and carefully trim it in the accepted Atlantean   
fashion for a man. He never failed to flaunt it in the presence of the   
younger, smooth cheeked Namor-El. Namor-El's face clouded with his   
rage like a storm at sea, and Bryrrah smiled an insulting smile.  
  
"I am a Prince of the Blood Royale!" Namor-El ground out between   
tightly clenched teeth. "And your cousin!" Blood ties were important   
in the ancient society of Atlantis.  
  
Bryrrah's sneer tinged itself with anger, now. "You are no kin of   
*mine*, surface-whelp!" he shouted.   
  
Heads turned in their direction, regarding the two quarreling young men   
askance. Polite Atlantean society did not allow for such public airing   
of grievances and personal animosity. Namor-El flushed. Their   
grandsire, the Emperor Tha-Korr, would surely hear of this. Already   
the gossip must be speeding its way to the Palace. There would be   
harsh words fallout about this. But Namor-El's pride would not let him   
back down, now.  
  
Bryrrah shook his fist at Namor-El. "*I* share the blood of Kings and   
Princes, since time immemorial!" he challenged. "Who's blood do *you*   
share, halfling? Or do you even *know*?"  
  
Streaking through the water much faster than the eye could follow,   
Namor-El lashed out with one rock hard fist, striking Bryrrah solidly   
in the abdomen. With a great "whoosh" of escaping air bubbles, Bryrrah   
doubled over, clutching himself in pain. Face writhing in rage,   
Namor-El drew back his fist to again strike the other youth, virtually   
trembling with the need to do so, shaking with the force of his anger. But   
the look of horror on the recovering Bryrrah's face was enough to freeze him as   
surely as the waters of the Cold Sea.   
  
He had not struck Bryrrah with anything remotely approaching his full,   
unchecked strength. He must never do that, he knew. He'd always been   
strong; very strong. But now...since his early teens, his abilities   
had been ever increasing. In secret, almost as if he were practicing   
an ancient, forbidden sorcery of some kind, he'd tried to plumb the   
depths of his new, burgeoning gifts. He'd always known that he did not   
need water to breath. He was comfortable in the air of the surface   
world. Undoubtedly part of his mixed heritage, he'd thought. But   
lately, he'd discovered his ability to fly through the air like a sea   
bird, gliding on the winds. And the strange heat from his eyes! What   
was he to make of that? And, most bothersome of all, even for an   
Atlantean, his strength and speed were astounding. Suddenly, the world   
became increasingly fragile...breakable.  
  
As if it chanced only yesterday, he could hear his mother, the Princess   
Fen's soft voice, feel the comfort of her hands, embracing him,   
lovingly stroking his hair. "You are blessed, my son," the Princess of   
Atlantis whispered in his distressingly blunt ear (why could his ears   
not be properly pointed, as other Atlantean ears were?). "You must be   
very careful. Your great strength and extraordinary abilities can   
serve Atlantis well, son of my heart. But first of all, and most   
important of all, you must learn to govern your temper. You will be a   
King someday, and a King cannot be ruled by his passions."  
  
Half his life, he'd struggled to master his ire. It was not easy. At   
times, it was like a living thing within him, coiling and striking of   
its own accord, it seemed. His heart pounded and his blood boiled. He   
was quick to anger and to take offense. He knew this about himself. He was...  
different. He also knew *this* about himself. With no effort at all,   
he could recall many private childhood tears, shed in his mothers arms   
after a particularly vicious taunt from Bryrrah's or another of his   
playmates. It cut him like knives no longer could to know that his mother,   
his beautiful, brave mother, was the subject of condemnation for his sake.   
Because of his surface-bred father.  
  
He could so easily have grown to hate Leonard McKensie...save that his   
mother still loved him. Their time together, the Princess and her   
surfaceman lover, had been all too brief, but passionate and intense.   
The Atlantean Princess yet grieved for the Captain of the Oracle.   
Namor-El suspected that she always would.  
  
Slowly, he dropped his fist to the side and released Bryrrah, bowing   
his head in shame. Once again he had failed. Failed his mother, his   
grandsire, and, most of all, failed himself. Wordlessly, he swam off.   
Bryrrah did not try to stop him, thank Pallais. Confused and   
heart-sore, he swam like an unswerving arrow whose aim was true. He   
fancied that he only wanted to be away...away from Bryrrah, away from   
this sinking feeling of being lost and rootless. But in his heart, he   
knew his destination. Where else? To which refuge had he ever fled   
when his spirit was troubled?  
  
"Mother? Mother, we must speak! I have...questions..."  
  
When she swam into the receiving room of her private chambers, the   
Princess Fen was as pale and drawn as he'd ever seen her. Her eyes   
glistened with dread, and her hands wrung themselves in an aimless   
pattern of nervous discord. She could not seem to meet his eyes.   
  
"Yes, my son," she whispered in acknowledgment. "We...must speak.   
It's past time for you to know the truth..."  
  
And just like that, just that simply, he discovered himself and the   
truth of his origins. At first he refused to believe, clinging   
stubbornly to the world as he wished it to be. It wasn't until she   
lead him to the Cave of Shadows, that cursed place shrouded in ancient   
mystery and dread, that he truly believed.   
  
Not until he saw the blackened remains of his interstellar cradle laying   
innocently in the depths of the murky waters of the Cave.  
  
Hidden from the sight of all like some venal secret cloaked from the sight of men.  
  
"Lori and I hid this here, because no one ever ventures inside. This   
place is taboo."  
  
His eyes widened at his first sight of the compact, alien craft.   
Blackened and twisted by its entry into the Earth's atmosphere and the   
force of its crash landing on the seabottom, the vehicle was still   
plainly not of Atlantis. Atlantean technology never created that   
gleaming, egg shaped matrix carefully nestled in the grip of metals   
unknown on Earth, he sensed. Namor-El remained silent in the face of   
his mother's soft voiced explanation. Almost dizzy with the enormity   
of it all, the pale skinned boy heard only snatches of the narrative.  
  
"...found you inside...swore Lori to secrecy on her oath as my   
handmaiden..."  
  
"...returned from my official period of mourning for my husband Leonard   
McKensie with you in my arms. Told the world you were my son...and so   
you *are*..."  
  
So! He was not a Prince of the Blood Royale, after all. Bryrrah was   
right all along. He wasn't even an Atlantean. Shame suffused him.  
  
In despair, he cried out. "Then...who *am* I?" he demanded. "*What*   
am I?"  
  
Like the keenest of knife blades, the stricken look that descended like   
a shroud upon Fen's lovely, delicate features tore sharply into the   
flesh of his heart. When she burst into tears, he swam to her side and   
embraced her. Not once in all her travails (nor *his*) had he ever   
seen his mother weep. Always she had been strong. Strong enough for   
the both of them when necessary. More than once he had seen her face   
her Imperial Father's fury, brave and unflinching. With steady,   
unblinking eyes, she'd stared at her death at the hands of Attuma, Lord   
of the Mu rky Depths...scorned and fought off the advances of her half   
brother, the self styled sea marauder Ocean Master, with fire in her   
dark eyes. To see her brought to such a pass...lain so low and to know that *he*   
was the cause...   
  
"You are my son, Namor-El," she choked through her flowing tears,   
resting her head upon his broad shoulder, "as surely as if you were   
born of my body. You are as I have always named you: the son of my   
heart. My gift from the gods...is that not enough for you? You are   
the son Leonard and I *should* have had. No mother ever loved a child   
more. Oh, Father Poseidon pity me, I should have told you the truth long ago.   
But I had not the courage. C-Can you ever forgive me?"   
  
He held her tightly. "Yours was the face I saw above my cradle," he   
whispered soothing words, stroking her silky auburn hair. "Yours was   
the voice of love that guided and sustained me." He swallowed hard,   
his throat working soundlessly. "Forgive you? What need have you of   
forgiveness, *mother*?"  
  
Why did I never suspect, he wondered in silence as he quieted his   
mother's tears? My very name is foreign, not of Atlantis. Namor, yes.   
But Namor-*El*? Whence came the El? Did I never wonder? My mother   
told me it was an ancient name...that it means "Star-Child"...and so I   
am. So I am...  
  
In time, he grew to accept himself as he was. As the sea gods meant   
him to be. He could lay no claim to Bryrrah's ancient lineage, but his   
destiny was clear, nonetheless. If he was meant to rule Atlantis, then   
so be it. But that was for his grandfather, the Emperor Tha-Korr, to   
decide. Head bowed, he went to his grandsire and told him the truth.   
He would not live a lie. His pride forbade it. Blood was telling in   
Atlantis. Descent was all important in the politics of the undersea   
Kingdom. But the truth will out, and Namor-El did not flinch.   
  
Tha-Korr's towering rage was already legendary, but the old ruler was   
strangely calm and quiet when he heard the news, sitting still on his   
jeweled throne of gold. As if he had long suspected his beloved   
daughter of the loving deception. They never spoke of it again. The   
Chief Councilor Vashti stood behind him. Surprisingly, so did the   
Prime Scientist, the Lord Vulko.  
  
But, even before the fraudulent Prince found his news so surprisingly   
well received, Namor-El was content. If he could not be Atlantis' King,   
her ruler, then he could still be her protector.  
  
  
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS  
  
  
Like a nightmare from out of the primordial mists of time given all too   
real flesh, the gigantic saurian monster known as Godzilla opened his   
cavernous mouth and spat nuclear fire past row after row of needle-like   
teeth at the city of Tokyo. For a moment, it was as if the sun lowered   
itself to briefly kiss the earth. The spines along the creature's wet,   
scaly back shone bright blue with the radiance of it. Dry and brittle,   
some aged, long abandoned wooden docks at the water's edge sparked red   
and caught fire. The blazing inferno spread almost immediately to some   
nearby warehouses, leaping and cavorting like a living thing. Like a   
destructive child at play.  
  
"Call S.H.I.E.L.D.!" shouted one terrified crewman.  
  
"Call Red Ronin!" advised another, more patriotic, seaman.  
  
"Summon Mothra!" encouraged yet another.  
  
"Hey!" muttered the lone American among the Shinobi-Maru's crew, "the   
last time Godzilla was here, Mechi-Kong kicked his lizard butt good!"  
  
When the mountainous dinosaur opened his toothy maw for yet another   
fiery blast, the Horn of Proteus again rang out it's eerie, lonely call.   
With a roar of defiance, Godzilla closed his eyes, and sank angrily   
beneath the waves once more.  
  
"And there are *worse* things than he in the cradle of the sea,"   
Namor-El warned softly, his deep voice calm. "And they are *all* mine   
to command. They...and the armies of mighty Atlantis herself. Heed my   
words, surfacemen! A new era dawns for us all. It can be an age of   
prosperity and plenty for both our peoples...or it can be an era of   
harsh reprisal and destruction. The decision is yours! Let we of   
Atlantis teach you of our home, the sea. Together we may both benefit.   
The sea is vast and rich, her resources untapped. But not even the   
oceans are inexhaustible. Their wealth must be carefully used,   
husbanded, her waters and the creatures that dwell within them,   
respected. Imperious Rex!"  
  
Hiro Fugimoto blinked rapidly. The Fugimoto clan were scions of the   
sea. For generations, they had served Nippon aboard the decks of her   
Naval vessels; labored in her Merchant Marine or her fishing fleets.   
In a flash, he remembered his elder brother Matsuo, brave but gentle   
Matsuo, lost these ten years when his submarine, the Akagi, sank at sea   
with all hands aboard.  
  
It occured to him, then, how easily Matsuo and his comrades might have   
been rescued with the help of water breathing Atlanteans...   
  
And just last week...that Russian submarine...lost with no survivors...  
one hundred and thirty-seven men...his brothers in the waters of the   
sea...might they have been saved, as well?  
  
And so many other possibilities! Men living as one with the oceans,   
enjoying the bounty of the sea, but carefully preserving it at the same   
time...the rewards would be great.  
  
Hiro bowed deeply. "You speak wisely, O Prince of the sea!" he said,   
and saw Doctor Namasara smile in answer. "We will consider your words,   
Namor-El," he promised. "We, ourselves, are not influential men,   
Highness; we are but humble seamen. But, rest assured, we will pass   
your words of wisdom on to men who *do* wield influence, great   
influence."  
  
Supermanta nodded, crossing his arms over his broad chest and frowning.   
"See that you do," he cautioned. "And do not neglect my warning in the   
telling of your tale. I say again: peace and prosperity...or war and   
devastation. The choice is yours, surfaceman. Choose wisely."  
  
With that, the Prince of Atlantis leapt high in the air. In an arc as   
curved and graceful of as the flight of a bird, he soared, diving   
headlong into the warm waters of Tokyo Bay. The dive was a thing born   
of breathtaking beauty and skill; so perfect in its execution that the   
trim figure of Namor-El left hardly a splash in his wake as he plunged   
into the sea. Like a lover, the waters of the deep seemed to open her   
arms to receive her sovereign.  
  
"Ahoy, the ship!"  
  
From the approaching Harbor Patrol motor launch, a small swarm of   
people, it seemed to Captain Fugimoto, clambered aboard his vessel.   
Soon, he spied Doctor Namasara in deep conference with several of his   
scientific colleagues, dark heads clustered together, gesticulating   
wildly. Almost in a panic at the unexpected attention, the shy Kenjiro   
clung to his Captain's side; safety in numbers...Hiro found himself the   
focus of a distressing number of pointed questions from the authorities,   
all demanding immediate answers.  
  
"Coming through! Coming through! Make a hole! Move it or lose it,   
people!"   
  
Much taken aback by the rudeness of it all, Captain Fugimoto watched   
the lovely dark haired gaijin woman elbow her way to the forefront of   
the considerable crowd now surrounding him. Taking a deep breath, she   
smoothed her rumpled skirt, then thrust the microphone of a small tape   
recorder under his nose. A Sony, he noted with approval.  
  
"Lois Dean, Metropolis Daily Star," she identified herself briskly. "What   
the hell happened out there, Captain Fugimoto? Can we get a statement?"  
  
Fugimoto blinked, then bowed respectfully. "Ah, Miss Dean! Permit me   
to inquire what it is that brings an award winning investigative   
reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper like the Daily Star to   
Japan?"  
  
A charming smile was the seaman's answer. "Why, Captain, Tokyo is   
hardly the ends of the earth. And Godzilla is always news. That *was*   
Godzilla, am I right?"  
  
To the east, firefighters valiantly fought the irradiated blaze left in   
the wake of the irascible monster. Fugimoto inclined his head slightly   
in acknowledgment. "And you just happened to be on the scene..." he   
murmured.   
  
"I'm lucky that way," Lois Dean, covert S.H.I.E.L.D. agent agreed,   
turning up the candlepower of her smile. Investigative reporter made a   
dandy cover in her line of work. And right now, that work included   
discovering the source of all these recent strange maritime sightings   
and "accidents". Japan, if the truth were known, was far from the only   
nation whose ships had suffered recent depredations from this mysterious   
force. Norwegian mienke whale hunting had ground to a virtual halt in   
the last six months or so. The seas were becoming a downright   
dangerous place to misbehave. And it was her job to discover why.   
  
With a deep sigh, Hiro Fugimoto marshaled his chaotic thoughts and   
*tried* to explain.  
  
The End!  
  
  



End file.
